


Handful (That's Why You Have Two Hands)

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy is a Trash Fire, Daddy Kink, Gross, Horror Kink, Insufficient Lube, M/M, Misgendering, Non-Malicious Transphobia, Non-Negotiated Kink, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rape Fantasy, Rough Sex, Trans Billy Hargrove, Trans Male Character, painal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Billy Hargrove is a weird kid. Jim never got the memo about how it’s a bad idea to stick your dick in crazy.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101





	Handful (That's Why You Have Two Hands)

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot stress enough how disgusting this is. Billy wants to be raped by Leatherface and other movie monsters. That’s it that’s the fic. Also it’s the 80’s and Hop doesn’t know anything about trans people and is very insensitive and uses offensive language. So caveat emptor all around. 

Billy Hargrove is a weird kid.

Blew into Hawkins a misfit. Girl in a motorcycle jacket with a curly mullet and combat boots. Skinny and strong. No chest to speak of. Raised enough hell to wind up at the station on more than one occasion. Speeding. Public intoxication. Fighting. 

Jim was more than a little impressed the first time he had to show up in the parking lot of the Rusty Owl to break up a brawl between Billy and a grown man. Billy was obviously winning. Little more than a black eye and a busted lip, when Curtis Jones had a broken nose, some bruised ribs and a stab wound apparently inflicted by some car keys. There were a lot of questions. Like who let Billy in the bar, why in god’s name the fight started, and how Mr. Jones figured it was OK to take a swing at a five foot six waif of a thing.

In the hospital, Mr. Jones said, “I thought she was a boy, Chief. Some snot-nosed brat trying to steal my wallet.”

Billy was, in fact, trying to steal a wallet. But the rest of it was in self defense. Mr. Jones declined to press charges. Jim gave Billy a small fine, just a slap on the wrist. And well, that was probably a start down a bad road.

You see, Billy turned eighteen before too long and moved out into the trailer park. Issues with Daddy. Jim got at least one noise complaint a week about the parties Billy threw. He never had the heart to do more than show up, flash the lights, and put an end to the festivities. Billy was obviously Troubled. Maybe reminded Jim too much of himself before he joined the army. He was a fuckup. Too much drinking. Too many drugs. He’s lucky he didn’t get anyone pregnant and end up in some shotgun wedding. Lucky he didn’t die in a ditch somewhere.

It was one of those nights, where Jim had to show up to end a party, when things really went south. He made the mistake of going inside after all the other teens had scattered. He saw the liquor bottles littered across the kitchenette counter and the coffee table made of milk crates. He saw the blown glass ‘flower vase’ sitting by the tiny television. 

He should have hauled Billy into the station. But Billy backed him up against a wall, and whispered sweet nothings about warm, willing holes and well. Jim’s not proud of what happened after that, but at this point he can hardly take it back. Billy’s pretty, after all. Young, slim, with big baby blues and a crooked little smile. Even if Jim should know better, he’s only human.

When Billy started calling the station to invite Jim over, it was easier to just fork over the personal phone number. When El wanted to stay the night at Max’s house, it was easy to take a little drive down to the trailer park. It was easy to sit on Billy’s poor excuse for a couch, drink a beer, and let the sins spiral.

About the second or third time, Billy said, “I’m a boy.”

Jim didn’t know quite how to take it. How to argue that he was balls deep in a very wet pussy, and how that seemed a bit contradictory. He didn’t particularly want to get into a fight about it, with Billy in his lap, riding him like a goddamn professional.

“Want you to call me a boy. Say this is my dick.” Billy grabbed Jim’s hand and put it on his clit. “Say ‘he’ when you’re talking about me. Or you never get to feel this again.”

To make the point, Billy let Jim’s cock slide all the way in and squeezed down around it. The choice was pretty simple. Not like complying was some sort of big hardship.

Jim heard of ladyboys in Thailand. Saw a few of them. They were very pretty. Looked just like women. Billy dresses and acts like a boy. Jim figures it’s the same thing, just in reverse. Doesn’t make him gay if he’s still buried in a soft, warm cunt at the end of the day. Billy’s pretty like a girl, and that’s what matters.

But the whole transvestite thing is not the end of the eccentricities. Perhaps what Jim finds more disturbing are the odd sexual fascinations. Jim’s seen some things. He’s done some things. But for the most part, he always figured sex could happen in about three or four positions, and it was pretty straight forward. Far as he knew, fucking involved putting your dick in somebody until the big finale. 

With Billy it’s… well…

Billy says things like, “I wanna give your gun a blowjob while it’s loaded.” 

He sometimes calls Jim ‘ _ Daddy’ _ and follows up with a lot of babbling that has disturbing implications to say the least. Once Jim actually asked if Neil Hargrove had ever touched Billy like that. Of course, all he got in response was a snort and a flippant, ‘don’t read into it that hard, dumbass’.

Billy likes to be thrown around. Likes to be choked and bitten. He likes a lot of other things that Jim won’t do. Billy’s asked to be cut with kitchen knives, belted to the point of welts, and to be fucked while he’s passed out drunk. Jim always has to insist they use lube when Billy wants it in the back door. If Billy had his way, they’d do it dry. 

It’s all very strange territory. Jim knows most of it can’t be healthy. He also knows if Billy cared about what was healthy, they wouldn’t be sleeping together in the first place. In a perverse way, all of Billy’s strange desires make Jim feel a little better about the situation. Because, y’know, Billy was already pretty fucked up before Jim got there. It’s not like he’s really making it much worse. Or that’s at least a pretty lie he can tell himself.

It’s a Saturday night. Jim showed up at the trailer with a six pack of Miller, a bottle of Jack, and a rented copy of  _ Texas Chainsaw Massacre. _ All at Billy’s request. Buying alcohol for a minor is really the least of Jim’s worries when it comes to morally questionable activities for the evening.

Billy has the movie playing and has been drinking whiskey straight from the bottle while he sits in Jim’s lap naked. Back pressed against Jim’s chest, playing with himself. He keeps squirming around, grinding on Jim’s erection through his clothes. But slapping Jim’s hands away if he tries to touch. 

“If you want it bad enough, force it,” Billy giggles. 

Jim’s not going to force it. Even if that’s probably what Billy wants. Billy likes to say no when he doesn’t mean it. He’s told Jim before,  _ you should hold me down and rape me, it would be hot.  _ Jim is many things, but he’s not a complete monster. 

On the screen, there’s a girl screaming and running away from the killer. Billy’s breath hitches. Then he unbuttons Jim’s jeans and pulls his cock out lightning fast. He sinks down onto it and moans. He’s goddamn soaked. Blood hot and silky smooth on the inside. Jim swears under his breath. 

The pleasure is almost distracting enough that Jim can ignore the rumbling chainsaw and panicked shrieks onscreen. 

“Can we—can we turn that off?” Jim manages to ask right before Billy starts bouncing on his dick. 

“No.” Billy whines. “Fuck. Would you wear the mask if I got you one?”

“Excuse me?”

“I wanna fuck Leatherface so bad. Had my first orgasm to this movie when I was eight.”

Jim doesn’t know what to do with that. It’s hard to parse when Billy’s riding him like it’s the freaking rodeo. Hard and fast. Then he’s coming, squeezing so tight around Jim’s cock. His whole body shudders. There are horrible wet sounds coming from the TV. Jim doesn’t want to look at it. 

Billy starts up again. He reaches back to fist a hand in Jim’s hair as he grinds slow and dirty. He rests his head on Jim’s shoulder, whispering right in Jim’s ear. 

“I jerk off all the time thinking about getting dragged into that house and pinned down on the dinner table. Leatherface and his brother taking turns using me.” Billy shudders. He’s breathing heavy. Drunk on more than the whiskey. 

Jim reaches down to rub Billy’s ‘cock’ and this time he’s allowed. He wants to tune out Billy’s rambling. He doesn’t want those mental images. Figures maybe Billy will shut up after a few more orgasms. 

“I come thinking about them making me ride their old man’s dick. I’d want them to keep me tied up and naked for weeks. I wanna be their personal whore. Watch them murder people. Beg them to fuck me while they‘re still covered in blood.”

“Stop it.” Jim slaps Billy’s thigh. “That’s absolutely disgusting.”

“It’s what gets me off.” Billy tugs on Jim’s hair. “Sometimes I think about it when you’re inside me. Pretend you’re Freddy Kruger. Or Michael Myers. You’re so big and strong. You could snap my neck if you wanted to. But instead you fuck me, just like I hope they would.”

Jim almost wants to grab Billy’s hips and make him stop. This is all an incredibly disturbing revelation. Everyone fantasizes during sex sometimes. Pretends they’re screwing someone else. But this. This is. 

Billy lifts all the way off Jim’s dick. He holds it steady and before Jim can register what’s happening, Billy’s already got it in his ass. Billy hisses at the pain. The only lubricant his own slick. He moves a little slower, but definitely not slow enough. Gasping, whimpering, so sinfully tight. 

“Fuck,  _ Daddy _ .” Billy sounds like he might cry. “You’re so thick. It hurts.”

“Then let me get some lube god damn it—“

Billy rocks his hips faster. He’s got Jim all the way in now. He’s not lifting up very far, like he wants to keep himself as full as possible. “I’m too small. It doesn’t fit.”

Jim doesn’t know what to do. So he just keeps rubbing Billy’s dick. He wraps his other arm around Billy’s chest. Holding him in place. Which is apparently the right choice. Billy whimpers and falls apart. 

“Please finish.” He whispers. When Jim tries to loosen his grip, Billy grabs his arm and holds it tight. “Please come. It hurts.”

Billy’s so tight, feels so good it’s making Jim dizzy. He can’t deny the spike of arousal that Billy’s begging triggers. Billy is small. Feels fragile in Jim’s arms, even if it’s far from the truth. It’s easy to imagine he’s helpless and this is something Jim’s taking from him. It tugs at something feral, something forbidden, deep in Jim’s hindbrain. 

_ Please come. Please come. It hurts so bad, Daddy. Please.  _

Billy’s breathing is jerky. He’s starting to sniffle like he’s on the verge of tears. Billy can cry on command. Jim’s seen it. The sudden switch flip from placid contentment to waterworks, then back to perfect calm. It’s still unsettling. It’s. It makes Jim hate himself, but seeing Billy cry makes his cock pulse. 

“I—please—I can’t.” Billy stops moving. He’s shivering. “Can’t move anymore. It’s too much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” 

Billy is crying now. He’s just sitting there on Jim’s dick, perfectly still. For a moment, Jim contemplates hungry wolves and a limping deer. Billy knows how to push buttons to get what he wants. Jim knows what Billy wants. 

Something in Jim breaks.

He picks Billy up and manhandles him down onto the floor, on his hands and knees. Billy squirms. Half heartedly struggles. Mostly to make sure he’s still facing the TV. He’s watching the blood splatters with a half open mouth. 

Jim spreads Billy’s ass cheeks and spits. There’s no blood, which is comforting. It’s enough that Jim can allow himself to line up and sink into his asshole. Billy yelps. Jim thrusts, holding onto Billy’s hips. 

The chainsaw rumbles on the TV again. Billy squirts. Gushes audibly onto the floor. Jim grits his teeth and speeds up. 

“You’re a filthy little whore.” Jim digs his nails into flesh. “Probably belong in a goddamn asylum.”

“Yes,” Billy hiccups. “Fuck my ass. Ruin me. Come in me. Please. Hurts. Just make it stop.”

Jim topples over the edge, still pumping into Billy’s constrictive heat. He stays buried deep, riding out the high. 

Billy sighs, long and low. He slumps down, cheek resting on the floor. He’s covered in sweat. Flushed. Beautiful. 

The guilt is already starting to set in. Jim feels dirty. He slowly pulls out, still thankful he doesn’t see any red. Sometimes he can’t believe the amount of punishment Billy can take. Then again, Billy owns several dildos. He apparently fucks himself daily. Sometimes in both holes at once, or so he’s said. 

Billy collapses completely. He rolls onto his back and stares up at Jim with a sly grin. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What?” Jim blinks. 

“If I get you a Leatherface mask, would you wear it while we fuck?”

“No, Billy.”

“What about Michael Myers? Or just a hockey mask.”

Jim rubs a hand over his face. Is there really a point in protesting? Is there even a line they have yet to cross? Does Jim have any morals left?

Billy holds his arms out, making grabby hands like a child. “Carry me to bed, I don’t think I can stand up.”

Really, it’s the least Jim can do. He gathers Billy up in a bridal carry. His knees creak as he stands. Billy rests his head against Jim’s chest. Traces his fingers over the buttons on Jim’s shirt. 

Jim deposits Billy on the full-sized mattress that occupies most of the space in the tiny bedroom. No bed frame. Just some threadbare sheets and a ratty blanket. Billy stretches out, naked and ravaged. 

“Are you hanging out for a while or what?” He asks so casually, grabbing a cigarette from his pack on the nightstand and lighting it. 

Jim knows there’s a real danger of falling asleep if he lies down. It’s one thing to pull into the trailer park under the cover of night. Driving away tomorrow in broad daylight is far more risky. He absolutely doesn’t need anyone to see him exiting Billy’s trailer. 

“Better head out, I think.”

“Lame. You coming back tomorrow? We can watch regular porn or something.”

“Maybe.”

Billy rolls into his back blowing a smoke ring up at Jim. His perky little nipples are hard in the cool air. His shaved pussy is still glistening wet. There’s no way Jim could get it up again for at least a few hours. It’s an enthralling sight nonetheless. 

“I ain’t apologizing for what I like.” Billy cocks an eyebrow. 

“Nobody’s asking you to.”

“You’re freaked out, though.”

“I’m sure you can appreciate why, kid.”

Billy runs a hand down his flat stomach, tracing down between his thighs. He slips a couple fingers into himself and smiles. 

“We can do something real vanilla if you stay. I’ll just lie here and let you pound away. I’ll even  _ cuddle _ with you.”

Jim contemplates that. 

“C’mon. We’ll pass out for a couple hours, I’ll wake you up to fuck, then you can get out of here. I just wanna feel that dick again. Only going a single round is basically robbery.”

Well. Jim’s not terribly good at saying ‘no’ where Billy’s concerned. He’s not good at saying ‘no’ to pussy in general. Never got the memo on how it’s a bad idea to stick your dick in crazy. 

Besides. Maybe Billy actually wants to be held and this is the only way he can ask for it. Probably not. He probably doesn’t care. Jim’s not above grasping at straws to give the situation some hint of normalcy. 

So Jim takes off his clothes and settles down on the bed. Billy stubs out his cigarette and snuggles against Jim, playing with his chest hair. Billy smells good. Despite the sweat, the whiskey, and the men’s deodorant, there’s an underlying sweetness. Jim can’t help himself. He kisses Billy on the forehead. 

“Gay,” Billy snorts. 

“Shut up.”

Billy’s smiling real wide. He looks a little softer in the dim light. There’s no bedside lamp. Just the fluorescent glow cast through the open door from the living room. Jim knows this isn’t something that can last. He knows it shouldn’t last. He tells himself every time will be the last time and then comes back for another taste. He knows Billy will be the one to end it. Jim knows he’ll be equal parts forlorn and relieved. 

It’s easy to forget about all that in the quiet moments just before sleep. They’re just two warm bodies tangled together. Heartbeats and steady breathing, sharing the darkness to feel a little less alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'I'm Not OK' by the Weathers.


End file.
